


Naruto Gets a Divorce

by auntiegravity



Category: Boruto: Naruto Next Generations, Naruto
Genre: Canon Universe, M/M, Parenthood, Post-Canon Fix-It, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:35:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24987673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auntiegravity/pseuds/auntiegravity
Summary: "Does the Hokage live at his office permanently now?” Sasuke muttered.“Like he didn’t before,” Sakura mumbled into her cup.Suddenly, her eyes grew wide and she spluttered as she choked on her lukewarm tea. “Oh.” Her voice was hoarse as she spoke. “You were away, you must have missed it – you didn’t hear?”Sasuke’s brow furrowed. “Hear what?”After returning from two-year investigative mission, Sasuke finds the Leaf Village not as he left it. Well, his daughter still hates him. There's that.
Relationships: Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto
Comments: 16
Kudos: 105





	Naruto Gets a Divorce

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first multi-chapter fic, so let's see how this train wreck pans out. 
> 
> This fic is probably as much about Naruto and Sasuke's relationship to their kids as their relationship to each other. And also Sakura. Just Sakura. 
> 
> hope you enjoy!

It was a rarity to leave the hospital in daylight. Unfortunately, Sakura’s eyes had not yet recovered from a shift spent entirely under the dim fluorescents of the East Wing. Cupping a hand to her brow, her eyes adjusted slowly as she took in the humid evening. The hardwood trees, bathed in the lambent glow of the orange sun as it set, were buffeted by the sporadic breeze. Old women milled about in the streets, gossiping behind paper fans, while children ricocheted between kiosks, savouring the air conditioning. She had almost forgotten that it was summer.

Collecting her thoughts, she began the walk home, the soles of her feet aching with each step. As she turned down the garden path, she saw an amorphous heap of dark robes huddled on the porch steps. Squinting ahead, she saw it was a man, half-obscured by the shadow of the porch, his head lolled back against the mortar, eyes closed.

 _Ah._ Her brow furrowed. It was _that_ man.

When she reached the porch, she nudged him with her foot. Prying an eye open, he squinted up at her, irritated.

“You’re early,” she remarked, “that almost never happens.”

Sasuke grunted, impassive as ever. “And you’re late,”

“That happens sometimes when you have a real job. You should try it sometime,” she snorted with laughter. “You could’ve waited inside, you know. Sarada’s home,” she said, casting the front door wide open.

Sasuke grumbled under his breath as he pushed himself to his feet and followed her in.

“Hmm?” Sakura hummed.

Refusing to meet her gaze, he mumbled, “I knocked. Twice.”

“Ah,” she sighed in tacit acknowledgement. There was no point in making excuses. Still prying the heels of her shoes off with one hand, Sakura cupped the other to her mouth and yelled, “Sarada! Come down! Your dad’s here!”

Sakura stilled, listening intently for the sounds of movement. After a minute, the sound of reluctant feet on hardwood echoed down the landing.

“She’ll be a few minutes. Tea?”

Sasuke nodded and followed her to the kitchen. It was small and homely, if a little cluttered; sun-bleached school certificates and childish drawings adorned the fridge, and an overgrown houseplant sat on the window ledge in a ceramic pot, hand-painted and signed ‘Sarada’ in barely legible strokes.

Sakura had received word a few weeks ago that he would be returning from his two-year mission, but she always took letters of his whereabouts with a pinch of salt. By now, she knew that Sasuke’s timekeeping was more of an art than a science and keeping Sasuke ‘on time’ was a feat the council had yet to master. She never quite believed he would return until he was stood in the doorway.

“Come on,” she said, gesturing for him to move from the doorway.

Sasuke frowned and sat down, warming his hands on the freshly-boiled cup of black tea set before him. Sakura sat across from him, keenly eyeing the doorway.

“So...” she began, tentatively, “how long are you planning to stay?”

Sasuke’s mouth thinned. Sakura knew, as well as he did, it was a pointed question; he never planned to stay. Any ‘staying’ he did was, at best, unintentional or, at worst, coerced. “A while,” he replied, under duress.

“A while, huh? That’s, like, a couple hours in Sasuke-time, right?” With a bemused smile, she stirred her tea. 

Not having the wherewithal to answer, Sasuke’s expression remained flat.

A brusque cough summoned both of them back to themselves; there was Sarada, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and brows furrowed. Abruptly, Sasuke stood up to greet her, the backs of his knees pushing his chair backwards until it toppled over and landed with a bang on the linoleum. 

For a pregnant moment, no one said anything. Sakura winced, more so at the awkwardness of the coming interaction than the loud noise. Sasuke remained dazed; he hadn’t seen his daughter in two years. She had grown, he noticed.

The uncomfortable silence was eventually broken by Sasuke, not because he was the bravest, but because he had the least social tact. “Hello,” he said, faintly bowing his head.

Sarada eyed him sharply. “Your chair fell over,” she announced, refusing to return his greeting. Side-stepping the fallen chair, she strode over to the table and swiftly took a seat beside her mother.

Sakura dug her fingernails into her thigh, cringing. “I made some black tea,” she offered, knowing it was Sarada’s favourite and if bribery was what it took to keep her there, then so be it.

Without saying a word, or meeting either of her parents’ gazes, she furtively accepted a cup meanwhile Sasuke collected his chair from the floor.

And the silence resumed.

The first time Sasuke met his daughter, her Sharingan had awoken. Now that she was older, no dojutsu could rival the piercing glare she levelled at her father. Pushing her red-framed glasses further up her nose, she studied him, lips pursed.

Sasuke remained still; obliging to be her specimen was the least he could do for her.

“So,” she began, folding her arms across her chest, “when are you leaving?”

Sasuke grimaced. Sakura’s temper and his own complete lack of propriety were a lethal combination in a teenager.

“Sarada!” Sakura sputtered, more embarrassed than angry. Sarada wasn’t _wrong,_ necessarily.

“What?! He doesn’t care! Besides, he probably already has another mission lined up,” she snapped, gesturing angrily towards Sasuke. Her voice shook as she spoke, brimming with anger, and when she had finished, she sunk into her chair, eyes downcast.

Taking a deep breath, Sasuke felt Sakura’s eyes on him, urging him to say something, _anything_ , to their daughter.

“That’s not true,” he began, solemnly. Warily, Sarada’s eyes rose to meet his and she sat up in anticipation. “I haven’t been assigned another mission yet.”

Then, a pause. Sarada and Sakura both sat, eyes unblinking in disbelief, waiting for him to deny the rest of Sarada’s accusations. When it became apparent that he was done saying his piece, the room erupted.

Slamming her palms against the table, Sarada shot up from her seat, knocking her chair backwards and spilling her tea, and then stormed out of the room yelling, “Go to hell!” between gritted teeth.

Cradling her head in her hands, Sakura held her breath, listening intently until she heard the sound of a bedroom door slamming and felt the house shake. Once she was sure her daughter was out of earshot, she wound her hand into a tight fist, reached across the table and punched Sasuke square in the shoulder.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you!” she gritted out, failing to keep her voice to a whisper. “What the fuck was that?!”

Cradling his bruised shoulder, he snapped, “what?!”

Abruptly, Sakura shot up from her seat, leaning over him. “Is it that hard to tell your own daughter you care about her?!”

As realisation dawned, Sasuke slumped back into his chair, squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled deeply. Exhausted too, Sakura fell back into her seat, resting her pounding forehead on the cool table surface.

The two sat in silence for several minutes as the debris settled, neither having the wherewithal to speak in the aftermath of the argument. Before either had recovered the energy to sit up, the sound of padding feet echoed through the kitchen. Sakura lifted her head from her arms in surprise and Sasuke held his breath.

Suddenly, Sarada sped past the kitchen doorway, dressed in her training gear.

“Mom,” she called into the kitchen from the entrance, pointedly ignoring her father, “I’m going to train with Boruto.”

Sakura shook her head in resignation. “Fine,” she sighed, “is he staying at his mom’s this week?”

Sarada shrugged. “Probably.”

“Probably?” Sakura pursed her lips, attempting to pry more information from her daughter.

“Yea!” Sarada retorted, rolling her eyes. “ _Probably_!” She snapped before slamming the front door and bidding a hasty retreat.

For several seconds, an uneasy stillness held the room. Sasuke cast his gaze down at his ceramic cup, its contents rippling in the aftershock. His own arguments with Sakura and Sarada, respectively, were uncomfortable but never more so than witnessing a shouting match between mother and daughter; he felt as if he were a stranger who had stumbled into an intimate family feud. The knowledge that _this_ was his family made his throat tighten.

Slowly, he turned Sakura to gauge her reaction, deferring to her superior parental experience. She sat wide-eyed, mouth-agape; her grip on the ceramic teacup tightened so that her fingers turned white and her arms shook with anger. Sasuke half-considered leaving through the window.

“Ugh!” Slamming her palms on the tabletop, Sakura stood bolt-upright and stormed over to the sink. Gripping the countertop, she steadied herself, her back heaving as she inhaled deeply through flared nostrils.

“That little–!” Grabbing the dishtowel, Sakura buried her face in it and let out a smothered scream. Averting his gaze, Sasuke sucked his teeth and drummed his fingers against the side of his teacup.

“She’s a lot like you,” he mused.

Lowering the damp towel from her face, Sakura laughed half-heartedly, “how would you know?” 

Her anger ebbing, she returned to her seat, clasping the lukewarm cup in her palms. She smiled bitterly, “She gets the ‘storming out’ from you.”

Sasuke grunted, wishing she weren’t right.

The silence resumed, less strained than before but not entirely comfortable either. Sakura was lost in thought, her eyes dazed, peering into her cup. Sasuke’s mind wandered too; he hadn’t seen his daughter in two years. _Was she fourteen or fifteen? Was she older than he was when he had left?_ The thought unsettled him; he felt a pang of dread pierce his chest.

 _And what about his student, Boruto?_ The two had met in passing, several months ago, while resting in the same commuter village on separate missions. The kid had grown an inch and refused to let it go unnoticed, constantly measuring himself against Sasuke’s shoulder and grumbling to himself when he found he still fell short. Sasuke spared him the revelation that his father had always been short too.

 _And Naruto –_ _Wait._ Sasuke’s lips thinned as he registered what his daughter had said. “Did you say Boruto was staying with his mother?”

Sakura blinked slowly. “Yeah,” she replied, cocking her head, “Why? Is that a problem?”

“ _Just_ his mother? Does the Hokage live at his office permanently now?”

"Like he didn’t before.” Sakura mumbled into her cup. Suddenly, her eyes grew wide and she spluttered as she choked on her tea. “Oh." her voice was hoarse. “You were away, you must have missed it – you didn’t hear?”

Sasuke’s brow furrowed. “Hear what?”

Sakura paused, her expression became strained. “They, uh,” she began, “they got a divorce.”


End file.
